


The Form of Things Unknown

by the_blue_fairie



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F, Just a drabble, a light and shining thing, to make you smile on these dark days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_blue_fairie/pseuds/the_blue_fairie
Summary: Honeymaren has never seen the sun.
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	The Form of Things Unknown

Since childhood, Honeymaren has clambered to the treetops, looking out in vain for a patch of blue…

The time has long past when she would weep, thinking the fog a worldly winding sheet.

Her head rests against the tree bark, the silver of a smile on her lips.

The fog is like a necklace, its beads of many hues – all strung with a haunting thread of dew-mist grey, fine and slender, catching every particle that sparkles. It loops through diamond-patterned jewel, through ruby – and Honeymaren wonders if the ruby hue is some hint of the sun she has never seen. It weaves through emerald-painted beads and beads of gold – no, it is not like a necklace, but like a mosaic – an artistry that shimmers like the ghost of the sprits’ breath…

It is beautiful.

And yet there is beauty beyond she does not know, that only the stories of her elders can make shine in her mind’s eye.

The sun, she has seen woven into garments, into quilts. Like fire, she imagines it, celestial fire, its rays like the long fingers of a god, unconsumed by coils of flame.

Honeymaren breathes deeply in her treetop, shuts her eyes, and dreams of the unknown…

* * *

The sun’s rays are not like the fingers of a god.

They are not even like anything of a goddess.

Now that she can waken to the sun’s rays on her gentle cheek each morning, Honeymaren knows they are like the golden hair that spills into her face as her eyes flutter open.

She knows they are warm as the soft skin she nuzzles against, softer than any tree bark… warm as the lips that kiss her, warm as the smiling face before her.

No goddess, but a woman, the sweetest and most beautiful woman she has known.

Honeymaren breathes deeply, nestling in Elsa’s embrace, and smiles a smile not of silver (not of fog-grey silver) but of pearl.


End file.
